Doorstep
by Epitome of Bold
Summary: She never expected to be stuck in this spot: caught between a rock and a hard place. He never expected her to make the decision she did. Implied Dana/Logan- oneshot.


A/n: Started off as a multi-chaptered story...now, it's a oneshot.

Disclaimer: I do not own Zoey 101.

_x_ - Doorstep

This fell into the "OH, SHIT" category. All capitals, which meant it was worse than just an "oh, shit" occasion. This one was definitely an "OH, SHIT."

An "oh, shit" occasion would be like accidentally slipping and saying, "I love you" instead of "I hate you." And "oh, shit" could also be forgetting to study before a final test worth half of your final grade.

But no, she knew this was definitely worse than that…it was an "OH, SHIT!" It even had an exclamation point at the end if you really thought about it.

An all capitals "oh, shit" has to be bad, and, in fact, it was. It was tragic, a disaster. She had quite her fair share of "oh, shit" instances, more than her fair share actually. She also was a seasoned pro at wiggling free of "oh, shit" problems. She just had never dealt with an "OH, SHIT!" type of thing before.

Upon returning home, she realized she had no one. She was out of a home, which had been repossessed after her grandmother's death. She was out of a car: also repossessed. She was out of a checking account or any money aside from the sixty in her pocket. She was out of a job. She was out of friends. She was out of luck.

She'd checked her calculations time and time again. Trust her; that was the last solution to any problem. She didn't want to admit to herself that it was the only way. She wouldn't—no, couldn't—believe it. On the list of solutions in her head, she was down to the two last resorts...Solution YY and Solution ZZ. Solution YY: Death. Solution ZZ: Him.

Yet, as much as she wished she could say that she would rather die than accept help from him, she would be lying. She liked living, thank you very much, and would rather lose her dignity—which could be recovered with time—than her life.

She had tried over and over to convince herself that there had to be another way, but there wasn't. She needed to get help quickly. She was down to her last five dollars and sleeping on the beach. When things got bad, she would sneak into an unlocked beach house, grab a few pieces of bread and such, take five or ten dollars, and head back to her secluded spot on the beach. Granted, sleeping on sand was better than the streets...but it still wasn't as great as a bed.

A few days after she had been living on the streets for a month, it was time to ask for help. Solution ZZ, regrettably. And so, that night at eleven—after calling Information for his home address—she walked a few miles down the coast to his expansive seaside home. Never in her life did she ever expect to be in this position, and never in her life did she think the thought of him would bring a sense of hope and comfort...and belonging. She needed to be in that home. All she wanted was a warm shower—not a saltwater bath—and a comforting bed with pillows and blankets she could get lost in—not sand.

"Oh, shit," she whispered as she stood on his front porch, her finger inches from the doorbell. Was she really about to do this? The sense of pride in the back of her mind told her something like prostituting might be better than this...but deep in her heart, she knew she _wanted, longed_ to have a home here. Even though she wished not to admit it, something about the thought of living with him, sharing her life with him didn't seem so horrific anymore.

...It almost seemed welcoming.

As soon as she thought of it, she rang the doorbell. From outside, in the pouring rain, she heard the ring echo throughout his home and the soft patter of footsteps.

As he opened the door, clad in a pair of boxers and a thin t-shirt, he looked her over in shock. She stood before him in ragged jeans, a thin tank top, a gray hoodie, and Vans with her brown hair slightly curled and sticking to her face, raindrops pouring off of her.

She looked up at him sheepishly, like a young child who was ashamed. He could briefly make out insecurity and sadness in her eyes, looking up at him through her eyelashes. As the silence stretched, she fidgeted anxiously with the bottom of her tank top.

"Dana...," he said, barely a whisper and audible only to her through the rain.

"Logan," she replied softly, unable to meet his eyes.

He smiled genuinely yet saddened as he pushed his front door open wider and stepped aside to let her in his home...his life.

A/n: I'm actually surprised at how it turned out. I redid it from about two years ago, and this version is much better. It was going to be a long story after this, but now it will just stand alone, unless readers request more, which is doubtful.


End file.
